


In the Aftermath of Risk

by springbok7



Series: An Assortment of Teas and Biscuits [9]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: #TeamRasa, 007 Fest, 007 Fest Fancreations, 007 games, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, Team M-branch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbok7/pseuds/springbok7
Summary: Q has a discussion with James.  Alec hangs in the balance.  So does Q.





	In the Aftermath of Risk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [Dassandre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/gifts).



> For my heart-sibs. You deserve all the good things. Even if the 'good' things are angsty piles of angstness. Go on, I know you want to wallow in it!
> 
> Beta-ed by the intrepid [Dassandre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre) who dared step into the depths of Q's pain. All my love, you brave darling you! All remaining errors and typos are mine. Please feel free to let me know if you spot any and/or feel there should be additional tags. I welcome constructive criticism, but neither support or feed trolls.
> 
>    
>  _I do not own these characters. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from this piece of fan-fiction._
> 
>  
> 
> Written 05 May 2018

“Do you know what it’s like?  To watch, and listen, and not be able to do a  _ bloody _ fucking thing?”

Glass clinks against a metal wristband.

“Hack the CCTV.  The security systems.  Have  _ all _ that power.”

Amber sloshes violently against glass.

“And not be able to stop  _ one _ single fucking bullet?”

Fire pours down a convulsively swallowing throat.  No sound for minutes.

“We always knew this was a risk, this was  _ the _ risk, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”  

A dull thud and liquid swirls as the bottle hits the turf.

“ _ You _ weren’t supposed to happen like this.”

Silence stretches out for minutes.

“He’s in a coma, you know.”  

A mirthless chuckle.  If the tortured sound can be labeled that.

“Well. ‘Coma’ is kind.” 

Another chuckle: the dry rasp of one lost in the desert.

“He’s in a vegetative state.  The doctor said.” 

Shivers rack a thin torso.  Cool breeze rustles the leaves of the trees in the distance.

“Too long in the water.  Not enough oxygen to the brain.”  

A strangled gasp.

“They ...”

The words choke him, shards of glass in an already lacerated throat.

“The doctors want to take him off life support.  The ventilator.”

A long pull of amber liquid.  Not long enough.

“NHS would’ve pulled it weeks ago ...” 

The thunk as the empty bottle drops to the sod and rolls to the side.

“I don’t care how much.  Had to be sure. Test ... everything.  Opinions? Third? Fourth? I don’t remember.  Doesn't matter.”

Thin shoulders shrug.  The cardigan absent. Lost.  He doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Just ...”

Deep breaths, measured, paced, designed to slow a racing heart.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Whispered words lost in the silence.

“The voice in your ear.  Always in your ear.”

A sharp crack as the seal on a bottle breaks.

“The eyes in the back of your head.  Always watching. I said I’d be there.   _ Always _ be there.”

The tink of the thin metal cap against stone.

“Your guardian angel, isn’t that what you called me, you romantic fool ...”

A pause to swallow clear liquid.  To relish the burn.

“You promised.”

Another swallow.  Alec’s favourite.

“You’d be there, too.”

Tapping on the empty bottle, restless fingers seeking an outlet.

“Why'd you promise that?  Why promise me that?”

The fingers wrap the neck of the empty bottle, knuckles whiten with the force of the grip.

“Why couldn’t you have kept that God-damned mouth of yours shut?”

Shifting on the grass.

“You ... I should have never listened to you.  Let you weasel your way in.”

The sharp knobs of a spine press against unyielding stone.

“I was happy, you know.  Before.”

A hand gestures vaguely. 

“Before you.  Before him. Just ... before.”

Eyes close as greasy, brown hair rests against the same unyielding stone.

“I don’t know what to do, James.  I always know what to do.”

A wet sound in the voice.

“But ... not anymore.  Why did you promise me, James?  Why would you say those things?”

A cough.  Fishing in pockets.  A shirtsleeve substituting for tissues forgotten on a desk.

“You knew better!  Vesper. Tracy.  _ You knew better _ !”

A hollow forming in the grass where a fist pounds.

“God, you fucking prat.   _ Fucking  _ prat!”

Green and brown fingers twisted in cream linen.

“What am I supposed to do now?  What, James? Tell me that now. Right now!”

The owl flying overhead ignores the demand, and the man making it.

“You always had all the answers.  An answer for every fucking question.  Every fucking situation.”

A palm presses against the sternum that’s the only thing keeping the ravenous hollow caged within.

“Now what?   _ What do I do _ ?!”

The hollow will consume the world.

“How can I just turn him off?  Pull the plug like he’s a fucking server?!  How, James?!”

A final pull from the second bottle.

“Where’s your fucking smirk now, you arrogant, arrogant bastard?”

Forehead pressed against glass.  Warm. Too long out of chill. Alec would not approve.

“Why did you leave me, James?”

S’okay, there’s another bottle in the freezer ...

“Why did you bother?  Why did you do this to me?”

... in a home that doesn’t feel like ‘home’ anymore.

“I fucking hate you.  I do. I’m not taking the piss, I could strangle you in this very moment.”

The flat’s the same.  Nothing moved. Nothing packed up. 

“It’d be  _ so _ worth it.  God- _ damned _ fucking  _ arsehole _ !”

It’s been weeks.

“Come back to me, please, James?  Please? I’m sorry I shouted.”

The cats bunk with Tanner.  They always did like him.

“I  _ am _ sorry.  Please, James?  I’ll make that pen you always wanted.  I promise.”

The dog no one wanted until she adopted them has adopted R ...

“I’ll make two if you bring him back with you.  Please?”

... or Eve ... or the three females have established some elaborate time-sharing arrangement.

“Just send me a sign, something.  A message. A note. I’ll ... I’ll fix the DB5.  The mods we talked about last year ...”

He hasn’t thought about it in days.

“Please, James?  Just ... talk to me?  I miss you. So much.”

Grubby hands drift over trouser pockets ...

“I don’t know what to do, anymore.  I don’t.”

... but the packet is empty of cigarettes.

“Eve tells me I need time.  All I  _ have _ is time.  Endless, agony of time.”

Fists crush the soft grey of the slacks.  Smears of green in the dim light.

“She’s been trying to help.  I know that. Nothing helps. Can’t eat.  Can’t sleep.”

The cigarette packet pulled out of its pocket.

“Talk to me, James.  Please?”

The cellophane peels in sections.  Uneven, strangely ragged sections.

“Just ... five minutes?  I won’t ask for more than that.  Please, talk to me.”

The paper follows the thin plastic, tiny, soft shards fluttering to the grass like snow ...

“I want ... no, I  _ need  _ to hear you one more time.  Just once more. It’ll be enough.”

... or the confetti Alec insisted on at the wedding.

“I swear.  Please? Come back to me?”

The matches are the next victim ...

“Bring him back to me?  I don’t know how to live like this anymore.”

... a strike ... a flare of brightness ... a puff of acrid smoke ... and another ...

“I never used to care.  Armour thicker than your skull.  Where did it all go?”

... and then the packet is empty and the darkness rushes in again.

“I forgot what being alone feels like.”

Choking ... all-encompassing ... smothering.

“Middle of fucking London, and I’ve never felt so alone in my life.”

Groaning as limbs are straightened, unfolded.

“I think I’m going to go to Skyfall.”

A firm voice in stark contrast to the shaking limbs that hold him aloft.

“No one’s there.  Not since Kincaid died.  You always said you’d hire someone.  Never did, did you?”

Empty glass clutched in each hand.  Lessons driven home so well even in the midst of agony the detritus is not left behind.

“I don’t mind, though.  Easier. I’ll ... I’ll wait for you there.”

The detritus of a life ... of lives ... Who will collect that, then?

“Wait for both of you there ...”

The sky is paling in the distance.

“Meet me there?  Please?”

The sun creeps higher, not visible yet.  But soon.

“I’ll wait for you.  For Alec. Give me three days to wrap up the branch.”

Two fingers press against torn lips ...

“I’ll be there in three days.”

... then press against rough stone ...

“I promise.”

~~~ fin ~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the pain! Please leave kudos or a comment to let me know how you liked it :D


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